Framework
by Isolith
Summary: Jealousy; it's an eye-opener.


_**/Framework/**_

_Summary: Jealousy; it's an eye-opener._

_A/N: Just all my MC season two feelings piling together in a mess that needed a fic-outlet. Sigh. I just want a lot of tense UST-esque scenes in the break room with coffee (is that too much to ask?) =) _

_Enjoy =)_

**/**

It was brutal – like a kick to the back of his knees, Andy Flynn felt dizzy at the prospect of this revelation.

He was jealous.

The seething foreign thing that had lodged permanently in his stomach, the thing that tasted like bile when it rose up through his esophagus, lingered in the back of his mouth with a sickly, bitter palate. The thing that crept past his clenched jaw and teeth, the thing that firmly rested on his lips and made them curl into derision, into a snarl without his consent.

It was a mystery; he was both familiar and unfamiliar with this emotion, it was as strange as strange can be.

It was very different from every other aspect of dark emotions he had become acquainted with over the years, why anger did not compare – lust did no justice. It was an emotion enclosed in ambiguity; he could not decide whether it was violent or elusive in its existence.

It was not the jealousy that got to him, it was the underlying reason. It was the very thing that pushed him into this; why he had had no idea up until the moment he put a name to the foreign thing inside of him.

The epiphany was not the mere acknowledgement of envy having taking residence in his body; no, the epiphany was that beneath this prickly feeling was something more delicate. A subtle, fragile thing he had yet to comprehend. The reason his eyes lingered longer on her than was appropriate; the reason he sought her out; the reason he had come to a point in his life where the center of his universe seemed to revolve around her.

She was the center of all his problems – the point upon which dark fantasies orbited along with a faint notion of love, along with a dizzying concept of despondency.

Andy did not care much for this emotion in him, did not care much for its interpretation.

The break room was empty, desolate only in comparison with the chaotic trappings of his own thoughts. The coffee machine brewed but he barely noticed, mug crushed between his two palms. He was staring at the coffee machine and yet he saw nothing.

It was absurd.

Idiotic.

Insane.

The truth nonetheless – however much he might begrudge this awakening, it was real. It was a solid fact within him. It would not help to ignore it; it would not be advisable to pretend not to know. However much it felt strange he wanted to embrace it. Denial was a thing of the past.

Andy was jealous at the ghost of a man. A ghost who had once been in her life, the father to her children and a presence that had suddenly turned up – out of the blue. Jealous of a man he had no business being jealous of; ridiculous. Jealous of a ghost who had planted an anchor in her heart however faint that connection still was.

Why, it had been an eye-opener when he realized he wanted to shake her a bit and demand she throw the bastard out of her life for good. It had been an eye-opener when he realized he wanted to comfort her, wanted to know what her embrace would feel like, what it would feel like to bring his own arms around her and tuck her against him, hands on her back.

He wanted to know what touch would be like, what a kiss would be like.

He needed some form of cohesion between them; he needed to be able to touch her.

It was an eye-opener indeed; raw jealousy feeling like a tender bruise on his heart. His whole body tense with the emotion, his voice strained whenever he spoke, jaw clenched – eyes following her every move, eyes narrowing into a glare when the ghost visited their squad room. The notion that a ghost could show up and the whole world tilted off its axis.

"Lieutenant," a voice greeted and brought him out of his reverie. Andy turned around and watched his Captain come into the break room, a small hesitant smile on her lips as she approached him with wary eyes.

She had noticed – heck everyone had noticed – that something was wrong with him.

"Capt'n," he greeted voice gruff – it seemed to be in a rough tone whenever he happened to open his mouth nowadays. It bothered him; he did not want to behave like this.

Yesterday he had yelled at her; like he had used to when she had been in FID and it was costume to yell at her; like he had used to yell at her when he had considered her nothing but a nuisance. He still remembered the vivid look of surprise in her pale green eyes; it had been a long time since he had raised his voice when speaking to her. There had been a second of unease and then she had carried on like nothing had happened; the only tell the narrowed scrutinized look she bestowed on him the rest of the day, the way someone appraised a hurt but wild animal.

The day before yesterday he had touched her cheek tenderly, his thumb along her skin. An act that only confused the both of them. Her eyes had been pale then as well; only surprise had been more pronounced and with a vague hue of warning. Boundaries, she was silently telling him. 'You're crossing lines' he could hear her clear voice tell him even if she had said absolutely nothing.

Andy was unstable like radioactive compounds, unpredictable and it rubbed off on everyone else. He was a mess; emotional in a way he had not dealt with for a long time.

"Andy, are you alright?"

Her voice was low, and she took a step further in his direction.

He nodded.

Her eyes narrowed – not a hard glare but a questioning little narrowing.

He shrugged.

She tilted her head.

The coffee machine brewed on, loud in among their silence now.

It was about the problematique of being subtle. This feeling inside of him might be subtle. It might be dormant most of the time but he had never been particularly good with submitting subtlety into his actions. It was not in his nature to be subtle; it was not in his nature to be hesitant and patient. Relying on his strengths would not solve anything though; it would not resolve anything to push her up against a wall and kiss her. It would be reckless. It would not accomplish what he wanted. It would only end everything, of that he was sure.

She was so different from him, so different from what he was used to. It was a certainty inside of him that told him to tread carefully. It told him that where he preferred a direct, harder approach she would recoil at the prospect. He had never considered her frail, not even when he had detested her presence. In his mind she had always been a tower of unyielding strength. Yet he could detect the small flaws in her armor up close; she was not invincible.

One look at her when the well-clothed stranger had suddenly appeared in the middle of their squad room and it had told him a thousand little things; one look when Rusty mentioned that the elusive husband had returned told a vivid tale to Andy.

Beneath the composed mask, beneath her tense smile lay a troubled world. Being entirely himself would only push her further away than bring her closer. It was the reason he felt compelled to touch her – to comfort her in some fashion. To bring her close. It felt as if she had a gaping wound in her abdomen, blood seeping in a steady flow and yet he was not allowed to stop it; he was not allowed to touch her.

It was the reason his thumb had lingered on her cheek and his eyes had been fastened on her the day before yesterday. It was the reason he had stood close – looking at her lips and pondering what it would be like. Contemplating whether she would reciprocate, whether she would lean into him – whether it would be a disaster, whether it was too reckless. Whether it was poking a new gaping wound in her side; whether he was making it worse. Panic had set into her eyes and he had refrained, merely let his thumb gentle caress her skin and then he had quickly let go of her.

Now, he watched her out of the corner of his eye, waiting for coffee with him, leaning against the counter next to him.

"I'm alright – I'm sorry I've been a grumbling idiot," he explained, his tone still somewhat strained.

She stepped closer, her hand going around his arm in a comforting little embrace – unintentionally on her part he was sure. She had no idea what lay beneath his skin, how it became chaos when she was near.

"Don't apologize, Lieutenant. We all have our off-days – just, if there's anything I can do, do not hesitate. You know, I'm not that intimidating. You can talk to me."

He gave her a smile; it was hard to contain the compulsion to envelop her in warmth. Jealousy was not a vile thing inside of him – it was not a thing that made him barge ahead with his teeth bared and an impetus to hurt her.

No, it was strange. It made him tread lightly; it made him considerate while it still lit him on fire. A strange feeling indeed. He snarled yet he wanted to comfort her. He might want to bash the bastard's head into a concrete wall but it was overridden by another tension when she was near.

Her lips curled and she smiled back.

The coffee machine sputtered and then came to an end with silence.

"Mm-hm," she hummed, and he poured the black liquid into her cup first, watching her eyes – watching that characteristic little upwards curve to her mouth he had become so familiar with.

Jealousy ached, he amended. It might sting and it might feel like a jab of something sharp being forced into him but mostly it ached with an underlying note of pain. Bittersweet pain; he loathed its existence and yet he craved the essence of it. He could not very well push it away; it was lodged permanently into him.

**/**

Sharon sipped her coffee, enjoying the warm bitter liquid. She could feel his eyes on her, an intense gaze that had been centered on her exclusively in the last week.

She leaned back against the counter next to him, and contemplated what to say, watching him sip his own coffee looking likewise lost in contemplation.

It was not that much of a puzzling concept for her; it was not a complete mystery. The different attitude, the gruff voice and fickle mood, why it was no different than the grumpy teenager at home. Alike Rusty it was something that had appeared exactly a week ago, precisely in the moment Jackson had showed up.

She understood Rusty's wariness and the need to protect her, what she did not understand was the sour expression on her lieutenant's face; the erratic behavior she seldom saw in him suddenly flaring up like firework. It was not a secret that she was separated; it was not a secret she had a separated husband somewhere on the continent. Marital status was in their files and the police enjoyed gossiping as much as anyone; it had been one of those facts that had made officers smile in spite when she had been in FID. Apparently everyone assumed no one would be able to live with her on a long term basis; naturally she would be separated.

What most did not know, however, was that this was a predictable occurrence; Jackson always turned up in her life out of the blue – whenever it took his fancy and he decided to turn her life upside down. He had always preferred chaos where she was concerned; had always been entropy in her life in one way or another. At one point they had even fit; chaos and order embedded into each other long ago however destroying it had turned out to be in the end.

Of course there were years where she neither saw hair nor hide of him. There were years of complete silence and then suddenly he would turn up on her doorstep with that goofy smile of his she still found somewhat charming. Sometimes he was a mess, sometimes he was the opposite; she never knew what to expect from him. Every time he turned up she found herself cataloguing the differences; the new wrinkles, the tired sometimes gaunt skin if he was really at a low point – the way his clothes were either impeccable or a mess; the way she could tell by the style of his hair what was wrong. She had come to think of him as her stray; he roamed god knows where but eventually he turned up in her neighborhood, even if only for a short period, even if it was merely a phone call or a postcard.

It was not perfect, it was not the way she had envisioned their life when she had married him but somehow it was the way it worked. They did not fit; yet there was always, somehow, a small place in her heart for him.

"So," she started, paused as she took another sip of coffee.

"So," her lieutenant repeated his voice once again soft.

"You should team up with Rusty; the two of you would make excellent bodyguards," she soothed the comment with a wry smile.

His mouth thinned and his eyes lost a bit of their usual warmth but he refrained from replying.

She looked into her coffee cup, the black liquid remarkably reminiscent of her lieutenant's eyes when he became upset. Another stray, she sometimes found herself thinking, wondering if the similarities between Jackson and her lieutenant were only in her imaginations. There were striking similarities and yet she lingered more on what differentiated the two; one out of addiction and the other always struggling, always stumbling into the grasp of either alcohol or gambling again. Jack was stuck in a downwards spiral whether he believed he was going up or not; Andy had left that darkness behind him, made it a foundation for moving on. Jack's temper softened when he became drunk whereas she imagined her lieutenant's temper would have flared like a beacon back when he used to drink.

"I will tell you what I told him," she continued, a hand on his elbow to make him look at her, to make him understand it was meant with a cordial intention, "I am perfectly capable of looking after myself. I have been dealing with Jackson for the last forty years of my life and believe it or not, we do actually have a somewhat amicable understanding."

He gave a small shake of his head; "How does amicable work? He shows up and turns everything upside down?"

She sipped her coffee, refrained from answering right away.

"I don't mean to pry," her lieutenant started talking again, "really – it just bugs me."

She smiled into her coffee. She found silence was always a good approach to get people to talk; with her lieutenant it worked as well. He obviously had something on his mind; only she was still not quite sure what it meant. It was easy to interpret Rusty in regards to Jack showing up but her lieutenant? – she was uncertain. She knew that it was the reason he behaved differently; she just had no clue why.

"I guess I'm trying to understand you."

She looked up, caught off guard by the comment. His eyes were that color that looked more black than brown.

"I'm simple," she replied not knowing how to respond to his sincerity, to genuine look of puzzlement on his face. She fixed him with an askew smile, lightly bumping her shoulder into his.

He shook his head but she noticed the way the corners of his lips quirked.

"You're nothing like simple," he shook his head again, this time a snip of annoyance lurking under the surface; she wondered if he was annoyed with himself or her. It was difficult to tell. He took another sip of his coffee, then "Is he always that - ," he paused, most likely looking for a diplomatic adjective he could use that would not offend her.

She smiled. "Worked up, fickle, self-destructive?"

"Annoying," he retorted, his eyes clearly indicating he meant something much worse.

She rolled her eyes, "There's always a reason to his madness; it's only become easier to discern the older he gets. We actually get along better now than when we lived together; imagine that, huh."

She smiled again but her lieutenant's answering smile seemed lukewarm.

"He's still drinks? Gambles?"

She nodded, keeping her eyes aligned with her him; another look she was uncertain about. They all knew about Jackson's habits; she never made a great deal of hiding it – it had always been better to talk about it than deny it. With Jack it was always a rollercoaster; she had long ago accepted it for what it was even if she might always have a little wish in the back of her head that he would one day soar upwards instead of merely going down.

"Addiction; it's toxic – a parasite, you understand that, don't you?"

"I know," she sighed; eyes once again on the black liquid in her cup.

It was hard words to describe a person you did not know, even if the truth of the sentence rang with clarity, even if she understood that her lieutenant could relate in a fashion she could not. Addiction was not unlike a disease; it consumed skin whole and raw, ruined lives – disintegrated love and distorted reality; it devoured you till what remained was nothing like what had been there to begin with. She knew this. Her stomach clenched though, her throat feeling uncomfortable. This was not merely small talk, not merely friendly talk with a co-worker; it had turned into something she had no want to dwell into.

She took another sip of coffee, then "It's complicated."

"That doesn't change anything."

She huffed, took another sip of coffee and decided to not answer him; trying to direct a warning his way with a glare.

Her silence must have annoyed him for he immediately started talking again, "I just don't understand. Why not cut him loose? You deserve better. You are not the type to let other's get the better of you. You are not supposed to let others merely walk right on you."

He was angry, she could tell. It seemed to be directed in equal parts at her as well as himself. It was strange but her relationship with her separated-husband had nothing to do with her lieutenant, it had nothing to do with any of them. If they had bothered to listen to her they would know it was not a problem; they would know she had no investment in it anymore. It was a darkness she had outgrown in some fashion.

His anger annoyed her though; it confused her even more.

"It's none of your business, with all due respect," she took a step away from the counter, needing some space. He was standing too close. The closeness of him and his genuine interest felt overwhelming suddenly, enclosing her in a way she had not imagined. "You are seeing it all without context. What, you see him for the span of a few hours and you immediately jump to a conclusion. As I've said, an inordinate number of times now, it's all perfectly fine. He's well out of my hair again and really, it was no trouble at all. It's not my life; it's his."

She exhaled, every word having left her mouth with an undertone of venom; unintentional but somehow it was the way she responded. His eyes narrowed and a glare fastened on her as he crossed his arms, "_With all due respect_, it's just not like you at all. I'm just trying to understand; I've been through all that shit, I know how it goes."

"I have lived through that _shit_ as well, Lieutenant; I know what I'm doing. I'm not in the middle of it – he's not in my life. He merely shows up now and again."

"You never get tired of that? Sounds like dead water to me."

She gave him a brief smile, threw the rest of her coffee out in the sink; this conversation was not meant for work space. It was not meant for the two of them; the easy bond between them that had formed and only gotten more and more familiar in the last year, it was not prepared for strain. It was not prepared for outsiders and the past, obviously. It was not prepared for honesty; not in this way.

His eyes widened for a small fraction, an almost horrified look in their depths, "I'm sorry; I did not mean it like that – I'll shut up now," he told her, sincere apology in his words.

She gave him a nod, "I have some paperwork to finish," she rinsed the coffee cup and dried it; avoiding his eyes. She was not sure whether he would start talking again, she was not sure what eye contact would lead to.

"Thank you for the coffee," she smiled again, forced herself to appear normal, and then she quickly left the break room, striding to her office. She needed privacy now; her own space to think in without her lieutenant interrupting. There were so many thoughts in her head; fluttering around like flies trapped inside her skull.

There was something crucial she was missing; something she had no idea how to interpret.

**/**

Andy watched her figure as she walked away; the chin up and her stride purposeful on the point of being just slightly too hurried. Her heels loud against the floor, determined to leave his presence as quickly as possible.

Air left him and he felt empty like a deflated balloon; he was left with a dense feeling that settled in him like lead.

Fucking idiot, he berated himself.

She had forced on a smile for his sake, her eyes obscure behind their green veil but he knew a warning when he saw one. It had been a clear warning; end of topic. If not for that resolute facial expression he would he would have reached out to her wrist and stopped her; he would have tried to apologize again. To make it clear that he did not mean it the way she obviously took it.

No, it was better to let her go; he was not sure what happened when he overstepped boundaries with her. It was a thing he had never really done when it concerned her, not in any crucial way that counted. When she had been in internal affairs everyone had stepped across boundaries but that had been part of the deal; and it had never been personal like now. However much he had yelled at her angrily and thought her a self-centered, pretentious bitch he had never once crossed personal lines; not like now.

That was the crux of every problem he was having; he wanted to cross lines; he wanted it to be personal – he wanted to be included into her space, exclusively. That was the root of everything; the root to the fierce being that came alive inside him, the core of why he foolishly blundered ahead without a backward glance or a thought for consequences.

The predicament was that he had absolutely no idea how to go about it or what to expect from her in the progress. In that way she remained as mysterious as ever; elusive and far out of his reach. Blundering or forcing his way through; that was reckless and obviously it was not going to him any favors.

Shit.

Andy had not meant to say it all; had not meant to put her in a corner to defend herself or her life. It had not been his intention. Words had flowed from his mouth without his consent, without second thought; it had felt like air merely leaving his lungs. It was what naturally happened when he did not tread carefully; a composition he had never really mastered. Up until now it had not really bothered him.

Maybe if he had been a bit more tactful, a bit more detached; then maybe they could have continued to talk or at the very least not ended the conversation so abruptly.

It was what always happened to him; he never knew when to keep his mouth shut. Clueless as to when diplomacy was called for, oblivious to what he found when he barged through barricades. Fluid conversation with nothing remotely serious; now that would have been better. It had been light in the beginning; he wondered why he had not just kept it so.

It was her life and she had no reason to share it with him; he had no claim, nothing whatsoever. When he thought it over, there was nothing that sanctioned him to pry into her relationship with that dirtbag. He felt entitled but that was the raw thing inside of him that demanded he was allowed to enquire about her life; if only he was not so goddamn curious.

She had approached him with a smile and genuine worry about his behavior; he had repaid her by practically pushing her off a cliff; watched her fall to appease his own curiosity, to appease the feeling of envy. She would be wary of him now; would reconsider going out to join him for a break room coffee.

Idiot, he thought again; throwing his own coffee out in the sink as well. It tasted stale now even if it was still somewhat warm; tasted like the feeling of jealousy inside of him, lukewarm and bitter. Maybe it was better not to approach the subject of her husband with her; maybe he should have listened to the inner voice that told him to tread carefully, to stand back where she was concerned and not invade her personal space so much.

Andy tried to avoid looking at her when he walked back into the murder room, eyes set on his own desk and the people hurrying by. His eyes riveted to her office nonetheless, zeroed in on the reddish brown hair falling in front of her as she shuffled through papers, glasses taken off.

He sat down in his own chair with a tired sigh, avoiding Provenza's questioning glance. He felt partway sick now; not sure what would come out of his mouth if he deigned to open it.

**/**

Sharon watched him through her blinds, pretending to be occupied by a folder of files on her desk, every now and then looking up and watching him pretending to be engrossed in his computer; just barely avoiding his seeking eyes everytime he looked up by looking down herself.

It hit her in the middle of reading a bank account file on a family member of their victim, sudden clarity about everything. Suddenly it was clear in a way she wished it was not, vivid as if painted in too bright colors – loud as if the volume of her existence had unexpectedly been turned up.

It made sense to her then; his behavior, the conversation in the break room, the other day when he had caressed her cheek. Everything came into order, rearranged itself till it was easily interpretable. It was plain obvious; in such a fashion she felt overwhelmed again, felt overly aware of herself.

Her heart thudded frantically in the cavity of her chest; her lungs alternating between irrational hyperventilating and then almost stopping their rhythm, leaving her breathless at the notion.

Their conversation came back to her; his words suddenly taking on a different meaning. 'You deserve better', ringing in her ears, his thumb on her cheek the other day flashing before her eyes; it made vivid sense to her now.

He was jealous; it was ridiculously apparent to her. There was really no other way to explain his behavior the last week, to explain that brusque look to his eyes, the way his voice had taken on a gruffer connotation.

Only, it was not the jealousy that got to her.

It was what hid underneath the cover of jealousy that left her breathless.

It was that tender look in his eyes as he had let his thumb trace a pattern on her cheek, eyes on her lips for a brief second. Why had she not seen it before now?

**/**

Later on she joined him again, this time sitting down on his desk, a folder to her chest as she regarded him. The murder room was otherwise empty; the rest had gone to eat take-away dinner in the break room. Andy leaned back in his chair, scooting it backwards so he could look into her eyes while giving her a bit of space. She crossed her legs, feet in heels dangling off the ground; she looked to be searching for words.

Naturally, he spoke first; "I'm really sorry about earlier."

She tilted her head, appraising him again with a peculiar look in the depths of her eyes.

She fingered a pencil on his desk, "Let's just forget about earlier; sensitive topic," she gave a brief smile not really reaching her eyes.

He drummed his finger on his knee, "I did not mean to pry - "

"Yes, you did," she smiled wider this time.

He shrugged, "I just found you a bit of an oddity this last week; wanted to know whether you were alright – dumbass way of asking, I know," he smiled, spread out his arms, palms flat, "That's me in a nutshell – never did much fancy diplomacy."

She gave a short, low laugh, and then looked away. Her fingers smoothed her skirt down her thighs, as if she was removing some sort of invisible lint. When she looked up again there was a more fully color to her eyes.

"I'm alright, Andy," she said, her voice low but genuine, "thank you for asking."

He drew a breath; "You're welcome, Sharon."

They looked at each other for a brief moment, smiles deepening and he found there was something heartfelt about her like this; something that ached when it connected with him.

They stood at the same time; and he guided her to the break room for dinner with the rest of their team, his hand briefly hovering near the small of her back.

It was a matter of changing nature then, he thought; he had done it before he could do it again. He could be patient and considerate; he could be subtle and slow for her.

**/**


End file.
